Page 1 of The Executioners Three

Theo Porter had just rounded the curve by City-on-the-Berme Park—that sharp turn with all the woods and the steep slope down to the lakeshore—when bam ! Two baby raccoons came scuttling through the fog and into his headlights.

Theo hit the brakes and yanked the steering wheel left. The two raccoons had frozen, their eyes latched onto his low beams.

A sharp squeal across the pavement. Then a thump as he left the road, crunched onto grass and underbrush, and finally crashed sharply into a witch hazel. (He recognized those red and yellow leaves from botany class—a deeply unuseful fact right about now.)

“No, no, no,” he breathed to himself, heart hammering. In the dim red glow of his brake lights, he couldn’t see if the raccoons had made it to the other side of the road. In the much brighter glow of his headlights, he could definitely see his Honda Civic had not.

Three summers of working had bought him this Silver Sweetheart. Now she was scratched and dented, but he prayed she was at least able to get back onto the road.

He wanted to rewind time by ten seconds. He wanted to shout at the raccoons for trying to cross the street right then—he hadn’t seen them in all this fog. And he wanted to shout at himself for caring so much that he’d driven off the road to avoid them.

He could not afford a mechanic’s bill right now.

“Come on,” he murmured, shifting into reverse. “You can do it, Sweetheart.” He eased his foot on the gas.

The Civic rolled back. Back some more. Then spun out.

Theo released the pedal. Digging the wheels in was only going to make this worse, and he absolutely could not afford a tow truck on top of everything else.

He flicked on his emergency lights. There were no streetlights around, and the sun had long since dropped behind the lake.

Each flash of orange revealed white fog and more white fog.

With a groan, Theo kicked open the car door. His Nokia buzzed in his jeans pocket, but he ignored it. It was probably just Davis wondering where the beer was.

Ever since the fall semester had begun, Theo had become official booze runner for the Allard Fortin Preparatory School.

He’d set up a sweet deal with the dude at RaceTrac.

In exchange for twenty bucks, that dude would pretend Theo’s license didn’t say 1982 and that the math didn’t make Theo only seventeen in this year of 1999.

Six cases of Natty Lite later, Theo would drive the beer to campus, sell them to his fellow Fortin Prep students at an upcharge of a dollar a can, and then pocket the difference in the envelope under his mattress.

So far, he’d made almost a thousand bucks.

A thousand bucks he was now going to have to eat into if he wanted to get his car fixed.

Theo stepped around to the front of the Honda. The hood was dented, although not as badly as he’d feared. The bumper and grille were only moderately busted. So… yay?

He scowled at the witch hazel, which was barely scratched at all. Then he scowled in the general direction of the raccoons too, although they were long gone.

And honestly, he was glad he hadn’t hit them.

Theo’s breath plumed, tendrils of steam that glowed in his headlights. He was going to have to get some branches to wedge under the tires.

Fortunately, there were plenty of branches to be found. Evergreens and autumn hardwoods spanned for miles in the county park here.

As Theo scanned what little forest he could see through all that fog and shadow, he regretted not keeping a flashlight in his car. Or a jacket.

He set off into the forest. His sneakers crunched over the first downfall of autumn leaves.

In seconds, the fog and trees swallowed him.

The last of his Silver Sweetheart’s light faded, while a rotten smell gathered around him.

As if maybe some other raccoons hadn’t been so lucky when they’d crossed the road.

After thirty steps or so of wading through the fog, Theo finally tripped over maple branches hefty enough to withstand his tires. He crooked down to retrieve two when something glittered at the edge of his vision.

Theo paused.

Theo turned.

A long, coiling thing lay on the ground nearby. It was reddish, speckled with dirt, and every faint flash of distant emergency lights through mist made it glisten.

It looked, Theo thought, like the pig’s intestine he’d had to dissect during AP Bio last spring. Or like a rope that had been left to soak in blood.

Theo followed the length of it, his blue eyes squinting in the fog and his hand still outstretched for a branch. He had never been a paranoid guy, but this felt… off.

The stink was getting worse too. Licking over him on the night’s cold breeze.

His phone vibrated. He flinched. And suddenly the rope thing moved, slithering backward several inches.

Nope. Theo did not like that. He swooped up two sticks and twisted toward the road in a single movement.

The branches were cold and damp in his grip with a few leaves still hanging on. They rattled with each of his steps—faster, faster as he jogged, then practically ran toward the street. Headlights swamped over him. The trees and fog fell away.

And Theo’s breath whooshed out with relief. He felt immediately safer here.

Which was silly. Really silly.

Again, his phone buzzed.

“Piss off,” he muttered. “The beer will get there when it gets there.”

After snapping the branch in two—a feat that required several grunts and several snarls—Theo crouched behind his left front tire to wedge the branch under rubber. It smeared dirt all over his jeans.

It also seeped cold right into his bones.

Once the second branch was also firmly in place, Theo hurried for his driver’s door, dusting dirt off his hands as he moved.

That was when a bell rang.

It pealed out, echoing over bare tree branches. Riding the lakeshore wind. A sharp, clear sound, much too close to be from any of the churches in Berm’s downtown.

The hair on Theo’s arms pricked up. On the back of his neck too, and without thinking, his eyes snapped to the forest. Toward the general spot where he’d seen that weird, glistening intestinal thing.

Click, click went his emergency lights. Noisy, bright. Click, click.

The smell was stronger, and the fog—had it gotten thicker?

Theo swallowed, eyes still latched on the enshrouded trees. He almost thought he saw a person in there. A hazy, grayish figure walking this way.

“Hello?” he shouted at it. “Is someone there?”

The figure halted, and Theo was hit with an overwhelming sense that he was being scrutinized. Judged. As if every misdeed he’d ever committed was being siphoned up to the surface and weighed on some unseen scale made of dead things.

And, god, it really reeked of rotting corpses now. Theo couldn’t stop imagining intestines and blood and ropes cutting into his neck…

In fact, every paranoid nightmare he’d ever conjured as a kid was searing through his mind. Murderers at the window. Demons in the closet. Ghosts under the bed.

Theo lifted his hands. They were shaking. “If you’re, uh, not okay, let me know because I’m… I’m leaving now.” He pivoted and bolted for the car.

“Please work,” he muttered once inside. “Please work, please work.” He was overreacting—he knew he was being a wuss about absolutely nothing. But that wasn’t changing the fact that he could hardly breathe. That his neck felt like it was being squeezed by someone’s dead fingers.

Ropes. Axes. Knives.

He revved the engine and shoved into reverse. His foot hit the gas, harder than was wise. Spin, spin, spin. The tires took to the branches. They crunched over maple wood. The Civic veered back onto pavement.

And Theo got the hell out of there.

The last thing he saw before he cranked into drive, his emergency lights still flashing, was a figure in the fog. Tall, broad-shouldered, and blurry around the edges, it hovered only feet from the witch hazel.

Flash . The figure stood there. Flash . The figure was still there. Flash. The figure was gone.